


i got a plan

by JeanSouth



Series: UshiOi Ship Week 2016 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 2 of UshiOi week - split up for clarity.</p><p>Oikawa Tooru likes life. It keeps getting better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i got a plan

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the length of these, and the wildly varying themes, they've retroactively been split into a series instead of a work. Sorry if that confuses anyone!

Life was good.

It was probably not a thought his family would expect him to have, waiting tables on the outskirts of town in a French-style café, but it was a thought that frequently crossed Oikawa Tooru's mind. He had his own apartment, small but good and close to work. He had a cat called Aobajousai, frequently shortened to Sai, and three fish that watched him curiously when he cleaned their tank and played keep-away with Sai's carnal urge to devour his fishy friends.

Work was good; his bright smile and ease at diffusing a situation frequently kept him from the unpleasant, entitled screech of customers displeased with things that were just part of life. Having a good boss helped with that; Kiyoko lived a no-nonsense life with a firm boundary of how much shit she would just not take.

"What can I get you?" Oikawa asked, pulling a pad from the lavender apron tied around his waist. Mornings were always quiet after ten-ish when the working world was firmly locked away in their offices, and stayed that way until about eleven-thirty when the early lunch crowd started to arrive. Getting a customer at this time of day? A good distraction. He leaned lightly on the back of the free chair as his guest perused their menu, seeming to give every item its due diligence and consideration as the main event of brunch. He seemed good-looking enough, if a bit plain, with neat brown hair and a suit that seemed more casual when the jacket was draped over the back of one of their chairs. He smiled as the man looked up, waving a hand to ward off the question bound to come, always sparked by his presence in their more meticulous customers. "Take your time. We don't rush people, here."

Which was true, after all. It was a business built on atmosphere and a touch of community, and while it could be more lucrative if they wanted to bustle people in and out of the door, it wasn't what they were going for. It was part of his reoccurring through about life being good - very little in his life was focused purely on money, unlike the shark-minded lawyers and big-money meetings from back home. The relaxed pace suited him more, with the touch of rush and urgency coming from the busy lunch hour where he was on his feet so much that time seemed to pass in a snap.

"The croissants, are they good?" his guest asked, and when it was down-time, any guest was his guest. If he could wheedle a conversation from them he would, sometimes needing an eyebrow raise from Kiyoko behind the counter as a reminder that some people were happier left alone. He couldn't help it, though. He was a social animal.

"Everything's good," Oikawa replied smoothly, though the sceptical voice in the left side of his mind reminded him that that was what every waiter said. "And I mean it! We wouldn't sell it if it wasn't good, but I guess it depends what you like, too. We serve 'em with butter, or jam, or cheese or meat, or even a combination of some of those if it's what you want. So... it should fit in to what you like, no matter what."

His guest seemed to study him for a moment for sincerity, so he kept the smile on his face, though it stayed there naturally anyway.

"Then croissants, please. And coffee."

Launching into a spiel about their different kinds of coffee, Oikawa ducked from the table for about five minutes to throw it all together in the most artistic way he could manage, plating it up with a tiny glass vase and a daffodil inside it, presenting it with a flourish.

"You know a lot about coffee," his guest spoke up before he could walk away, stopping him in his tracks. He'd thought this one would be better left alone, but admitting a mistake was the first part to becoming a better man. Slowly, he pulled out the chair, waiting for a confused or displeased look, but sank in to it when he got only patience. Folding his arms on the table, he let his train of thought stream out, providing a steady background of chatter about his fondness for morning espressos, and a lot of time lost to Wikipedia. His guest ate neatly and slowly, giving a nod here and there and a bit of input where Oikawa had gotten the wrong impression from badly translated articles.

"You know a lot about coffee, too," he said as he waved away the offer of having half the coffee in the cafetiere between them, glancing on instinct to a customer coming in the door, vaguely hoping Kiyoko would take it, though logically it was his job to go see them. When she stood, seeming a bit bored herself, the fleeting bit of anxiety faded again. He was having fun. Life was good.

"I'm a picky eater," his guest told him, neatly setting his knife and fork aside and standing to put on his jacket, ready to leave.

"I'm sure you'd still like our other food, though," he turned his head to follow his guest, admiring the sleek, well-cut lines of his figure. "If you come back, I'll prove it to you."

On his way out, his guest nodded, and the thought of whether three or four strength coffee was better lingered in Oikawa's head all day.

-

Then, his guest came back three days in a row, and Oikawa, being the social animal he was, asked his name.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi," Ushijima said, inclining his head slightly as if in greeting. Oikawa couldn't decide if the name suited him or not, not much closer to knowing much about the man except that he liked coffee, was a picky eater, liked cats but wasn't very good with them, and was allergic to tomatoes. And the last one was strictly a customer sort of thing.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," he smiled a bit, splayed his hands in a gesture he wasn't sure what it was meant to mean. "As late as it is to say. I feel like you know me pretty well by now."

Which was true - as unprofessional as it seemed, Ushijima knew about Sai the cat, Oikawa's consideration to go back to uni, and a modicum of small details. It wasn't entirely fair he was the one laying out his life, though his past was where it belonged: stuck in a memory toward the back of his mind.

"And you, Oikawa...?" Ushijima questioned, a bite of a hand-made, Oikawa-special omelette halfway to his mouth. It seemed to be going down just fine, so picky eater didn't exactly seem like the right label for him.

"Oh! Oikawa Tooru. Sorry. Slipped my mind. I forgot you know my fishes' names, but not mine," he laughed, the thought seeming strange to him. The idea of Ushijima walking in and going 'hello, Iwaizumi' to one of his fish, but not knowing his first name made for a wonderful mental image. "I don't know much about you, though. What do you do?"

He tilted his head and waited, hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

"I'm the..." Ushijima hesitated, though he seemed to be lost for a phrase rather than unwilling to tell. "The acting head of my family."

It had a lot of implications, but it sounded like he was from Oikawa's old world. Surely he'd have heard of a guy like this? Tall, with firm opinions, and not at all stuck up.

"Sounds exciting," he teased, "D'you get to go around kicking upstarts out of your territory?"

The slight frown on Ushijima's face belied his stoic composure. He didn't think he'd have noticed it if not for the fact he'd been looking at the slight hints of happiness for nigh on a week.

"Don't worry," he reached out and laid a warm and on Ushijima's wrist. "I know how it is. You don't seem like the rest of them."

It seemed rude to imply that everyone else in Ushijima's life - in Oikawa's past - was of a bad sort, but... it seemed true. If the men in his family had been as righteous-seeming, as justice-minded as Ushijima, he might've stayed. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions based on some conversations over brunch, but... he didn't think he was wrong.

"I'm glad you understand," Ushijima told him, surprise visible in the tiny line on his forehead where his eyebrows had raised a bit. That was what a lifetime of stern facial expressions would do to you: wrinkles. He seemed to want to ask why Oikawa was here, why he was a waiter, why he lived in an apartment and not his ancestral home if he came from the same world as them. It seemed poised on the tip of his tongue, but instead he swallowed the question. A small smile curved Oikawa's lips, glad for the respect owed to him by this man who, if he guessed right, had as much power as his own family if not more. He'd tell him in time, but not now.

"'Course I do," Oikawa withdrew his hand to curl it back around his teacup, and swapped their topic to upcoming festivals and the way people thought about astrology.

-

Then, some guy came in, and Oikawa didn't like him. Neither did Kiyoko, which sort of validated his feelings. He was the lower end of the tall spectrum, in a suit that seemed to hang a bit from his shoulders in a poor job of tailoring, and he ordered a triple espresso. No one who ordered a triple espresso did it for the taste, but for an entirely over the top caffeine boost. Give it fifteen minutes and the guy would be bouncing in his seat, probably jittering out the door.

"How long've you guys been here?" he asked, disturbing one of their regulars working on his screenplay in the corner. Some parts of it were set in a café not dissimilar to theirs, promising business and fame if his screenplay made it to Hollywood.

"A few years," he heard Kiyoko reply to him, her cool gaze fixed on him. She kept the counter firmly between them despite the fact he was far enough away she would normally have walked up to speak more quietly to them, but it seemed a smart choice.

His prying questions continued - who was the proprietor, how much was it worth, all questions he had no business asking, until his leg started to jitter and he took himself away, leaving them to look at each other in a sense of mutual relief. The kind of guy no one really wanted in their establishment, but Oikawa was no small man himself, and if someone was going to break into his illusion of life being good, he'd fight them tooth and nail.

-

"He was weird, y'know?" Oikawa said, playing with the straw in his glass of orange juice with pulp, fresh-pressed and how he liked it. The French toast in from of Ushijima was slowly disappearing and seemed not to be to his tastes, though he ate it nonetheless. When he wasn't so into his brunch, he seemed to talk more, as if Oikawa wouldn't notice. "Gave us the creeps."

"He shouldn't have been here, anyway," Ushijima told him, plain and simple and with the air of authority one would except of the heir incumbent of some vague crime syndicate with their presence entirely hidden from newspapers and internet websites save for the two articles vaguely mentioning them by association.

"Hear, hear," Oikawa raised his glass to that, catching the straw with his tongue to sip at it. Ushijima's eyes seemed to follow the motion, fixing on his lips. He knew he was attractive; one didn't grow up where he grew up only to not notice one's strong points, but the gaze was not unwelcome. He couldn't help the grin when Ushijima noticed he'd been caught and averted his eyes.

"Let me know if he comes by again," Ushijima pushed his toast from him, seeming woefully underfed for a day full of mysterious activities, so he left with a reassurance he'd be informed, an apple, and a banana.

-

It took something of two weeks before the guy with the suit and the jitter showed up again, and honestly, Oikawa wasn't counting for him. It'd been a few days since Ushijima'd shown up, and he hadn't really been familiar with the regret of not asking someone for their number before. But his presence had become routine and natural, so he'd never thought of it.

"What can I get you?" he asked when the man sat, or more accurately, tried to ask. He got to the part where his voice lilted up in question before Ushijima also entered, a slight frown on his face and his long coat still on. It came to his knees, made of dark grey wool.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, and why did everything he say sound like fact? It may have been his own bias, but Oikawa could easily believe this man was never meant to be here for some bigger reason.

The man in the suit rolled his eyes, waving Oikawa off in a hand gesture that seemed rude coming from him.

"Make me," he challenged, his posture relaxed, shoulders back and legs spread. When Ushijima pulled a phone from his pocket, the screen of it pristine and uncracked, it seemed to trigger an underlying annoyance in the man. "Make me yourself! Not some other guy!"

He stood, two long steps taking him closer to Ushijima. His hands raised to grab at his biceps but were pushed away, then when he tried to grab at Ushijima's wrists, his own were taken and pushed away. Oikawa had no doubt Ushijima could do some damage, but his reluctance to fight, his calm thoughts made Oikawa want to step in and protect him when he didn't need protecting.

An irritated noise left the man in the suit, and he swung, Ushijima's hands lifting just too late to block, his head snapping back when the fist connected to his cheekbone. He moved quickly after, the fabric of his long coat flaring when he bent at the knee, pulling the man over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, striding from the café to deposit him on the street, barking an order for him to leave, that he was not welcome. The man got up and seemed to think better of fighting him, spitting promises and threats as he left. Waiting until he was out of sight, Ushijima then returned with apologies, though nothing in the café was evident that there had been an attempt at a fight but for the discoloured mark on Ushijima's face.

"No apologies needed," Oikawa frowned at him, lifting a hand to feel at the skin. It seemed hotter than usual, and would soon start to bruise. It needed chilling. He glanced at Kiyoko to ask her for permission to drag him away, but her nod pre-empted him already. He took Ushijima by the hand, and returned the squeeze he got at the touch. "I have frozen sweetcorn in my freezer, c'mon."

His apartment was only a few houses down, above a convenience store, so he unlocked the door one-handed and would have deposited Ushijima on the couch if not for the fact that he liked the feeling of that hand in his own, felt soothed by its presence when his heart seemed clutched slightly by the realization that Ushijima did face danger. He'd left that world, but Ushijima still walked in it, not untouched. So he opened the freezer one-handed and fought with the drawer until Ushijima helped, wrapped it in a thick tea towel one-handed, and deposited him on the couch where he could sit next to him, then raised the icy-cold corn in his hand to cool the heated skin, the chill seeping into his hand.

"I know the world you're from," Oikawa started, and paused at the nod he got. Ushijima knew. Well, of course he knew. It was their shared world, after all. "But it's so dangerous. You're good, and you believe in the right thing, and you're smart-"

His words cut off at the touch of lips to his own, gentle and butterfly-light.

"So are you," Ushijima told him, the hand in his own squeezing tighter. "I selfishly feel you should have come to us."

He seemed to grimace at himself, drawing a laugh from Oikawa.

"I didn't know you existed," he said, leaning back on the plush cushions of his couch, his tension finally easing. "But I might still... not entirely, but I might still come to you. I don't like this. I mean, I like  _this_ , my lie right now. But I don't like being so distant that when you disappear for a few days I get worried."

He worried his lip, waiting for the reaction. He wanted to say, s _ee me more often. Maybe it's too fast to come home to me every night, but let me be part of what's home for you._

"I have to confess, I was hoping you'd want to come to me, if not to us," Ushijima told him, that frown of concentration still on his face. "Please."

The _please_ did him in, and he returned a butterfly-soft kiss, nodding before his head had to stay in one place for the deeper kiss given to him. He could be part of Ushijima's world, if nothing else, regardless of what bits of the past leaked into that.


End file.
